Loving a non-romantic without killing him

It's no secret that I'm a die hard romantic. I LOVE love. I love writing about it, talking about it, reading about it. Watching it on television and movies, and watching it happen in real life in all its glorious forms.I've always been like this. My grandparents, who are from Virginia's coal mining country, were married when my grandma was fifteen and grandpa was seventeen. He loved to tell us about how they lived next door to each other and he would irritate my grandma until she threw rocks at him.

My grandpa wasn't a person who teased. But he adored my grandma's temper. She's short (shorter than me, and I'm five foot even) to his tall, but her temper is legendary. But in all my 39 years, the only person I ever heard her yell at was Grandpa. One of my favorite memories happened just a few years ago. They had sold their big house and traded it in for a motor home. Grandma and I were sitting at the picnic table-style table and Grandpa was doing his best to irritate her. She finally threw down her napkin and yelled his name. Then my serious grandpa--who I'd never seen play with anyone in my life--reached over me to tickle her.

Which is probably why my husband and I get along so well. I'm not a grumpy, combative person. In fact, my husband, who is a full foot taller and a hundred pounds of solid muscle heavier, is the only person I voluntarily raise my voice to.

Because in most ways, he's my polar opposite. I'm a romantic optimist, he's a die hard realist. I border on the bleeding heart liberal side, while he's fundamentally libertarian. I was born, raised and baptized Southern Baptist, he's Catholic. I have two sisters (we argue, we don't fight), he has a brother (they fight, they don't argue). I write romance, he doesn't believe in soul mates.

Wait. REALLY?

Really. One of our biggest arguments came when I learned that little tidbit. You see, I write insta-love. The husband and I knew a month into dating that we were going to get married, so I just assumed he believed the same thing I did--we were meant to be together. But...no. In his head, there could be a dozen different soul mates for any one person. It's about who you choose to be with, he just happened to meet me first.

Not that he's not romantic. He totally is. He just has his own ways of showing it.

Like when he told me he likes my eyes because they're plain and brown.Or when he told me he liked my natural scent because it's spicy. Like Mexican food.Then there was this one: But I like your wide hips.Or the time he picked me up and moved me because I was in his way.

In the end, though, he's still the reason I write what I do. Because even though he doesn't always catch me when I fall, he ALWAYS forces me to be the best version of myself. He refuses to let me hurt myself in action or words, and continually challenges me to see that I'm worth more than I give myself credit for. He trusts me to take care of myself, but that doesn't mean he isn't standing behind me, Hulking out to make sure I'm safe. He gives me a safe place to land whenever I try to fly, and makes me laugh harder than anyone I've ever met.

He may not believe in soul mates, but that's okay. I believe in it enough for both of us.

By the way. After reading this, the husband suggested an alternate title: Loving a Romantic Without Smothering Them in Their Sleep.

* * * * * * *Thanks so much for stopping by to check out Eden's thoughts today. I love how she describes her husband. You can tell there is true love there. *swoon*